He Is the Most Important
by Steel and Ink
Summary: A modern OC Beauty and the Beast fic. Cassie's father makes a desperate business contract with a strange creature that promises Cassie and her baby Mason will live in the creature's mansion. But what does the creature want? Why was the contract made? And what will become of Cassie when Mason's father comes looking for her? Rated M for sexual themes, language & motherhood images.
1. Awe

Chapter 1

The golden gates open without being touched, and Dad slowly pulls the car forward onto the property. Huge, lush gardens extend as far as the eye can see, filled with tall hedge labyrinths and stone benches and rows and rows of flowers. It's bright and filled with color – a stark contrast against the mansion in front of us. Five stories of dark grey stone and crimson tile rise above us, its greatness overwhelming before we've even finished coming up the driveway. A skinny tower rises from the right side of the roof, and I shiver as I see the curtain in its window move. There's no breeze today. Someone in this house has been waiting for us.

The tires crunch up the last few feet of gravel driveway, and Dad parks in front of the large double doors. Each door is inset with a stained-glass window depicting hounds and horses and men with crowns and rich colors adorning them: a hunt. A medieval hunt? The pictures don't show any prey, and as scared as I am, I wonder what they were hunting.

I wonder if they succeeded in hunting it.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Dad asks, his eyes filled with worry. I smile and kiss him on the forehead. He's already been through enough pain in the last few days. "Please don't worry. I made my decision and I'm going to stick by it."

Popping open my car door, I slam it and walk around to the backseat, opening the rear door and reaching to unbuckle Mason's carseat. Dad turns around. "I'm worried enough about you. Do you really need to bring Mason along?" I sigh. "Yeah, Dad. I need him to be with me."

I don't have the heart to tell him that I would rather have Mason here, fate unknown, than at home with Dad, who accidentally used him as a neck pillow while watching a baseball game. "The baby stays with me," I say firmly, tugging him out. "Keep the carseat, though. I'll call if I need you to come get him."

Mason, out cold, doesn't even notice when he leaves the carseat. Wisps of dark hair pop out from under his light blue cap, and his green monster footies have him wrapped up nice and cozy. Dad nods towards the trunk. "Let me grab your bags," he says, gesturing to the tiny head fast asleep on my shoulder. "Thanks. That would be great."

After hauling the two duffel bags out of the car, Dad hugs me and plants a small kiss on Mason's little blue hat. "If anything goes wrong, you call me or you run away. Or both. The deal stated that you would live here, not that he would hurt you. If he causes you or Mason any harm, the contract is broken and you two get the hell out of here, understand?" I nod. Dad's a lawyer. He made sure he knew everything about this deal before he agreed to it and he made sure the contract gave him the upper hand. Just because he owed the house owner a huge debt doesn't mean he would just abandon us to this stranger.

The front doors slowly open onto a dimly lit hallway, and a small impatient breeze whirls up outside in the direction of the door. "You were right, Dad. This is creepy," I mutter. "But let's hope for the best."

A tall, muscled man with long black hair steps out of the doorway. His black tux matches the color of his ponytail. "Welcome, miss," he says in a voice that sounds too prim and proper for his woodsman looks. "The master has been expecting you. I'll bring your luggage. Mister Conti, it is a pleasure to see you again. Rest assured these two are in capable hands." He nods at Dad in a way that is clearly dismissive, and Dad can do nothing but return to the driver's seat. "Take care of my daughter and grandson," he says in a firm tone, before sitting down and driving away.

The butler glances down at me and takes our bags. "Grandson?" he asks inquiringly. I can detect a hint of displeasure in his voice. "Yes. This is my son, Mason," I tell him sharply. "Is that a problem?"

He wrinkles his nose. "The contract specifically listed that the girl must be single." "I am single," I respond. "Mason's father is not in the picture. Besides, if your master wanted a virgin, he should have requested one. I'm single and I fit the bill. Now which way am I going?"

The butler walks into the house, and I follow, letting him lead us as the doors shut quietly behind. It takes a few seconds for me to adjust to the lights – no electricity, I realize. Only candles. Most windows are covered with dark purple drapes, letting almost no sunlight into the big corridor.

The black-haired man interrupts my train of thought. "My name is Gaston. I am the master's personal butler and the mansion's head of staff. There are ten servants in this fine household, so if you need anything please do not hesitate to ask one of us." "You don't look like a butler," I comment, and he nods. "I suppose not. But it's good practice for acting school." He grins slyly at me, and I realize that he doesn't look more than twenty. "This job is paying your way through college, isn't it?" I ask.

He nods. "Yep. Fooled you with the attitude back there, didn't I? The pay here is ridiculously good. At this rate I might be able to buy my way into Broadway without going to school." He points down the hallway. "Make a left at the end of the hall and go in the second door on your right. Knock first, just to be safe." He smiles at me. "I was serious. There are ten servants here, so if you need anything just let one of us know. We're pretty tight-knit so we'll find a way for someone to get you what you need."

I smile. "Thank you," I say, offering a clumsy fake curtsy. He bows in return, flawless despite the bags in each hand. "Good luck. Dinner is at 7," he tells me before walking away up a flight of stairs.

I groan inwardly. Stairs. In a five-story house, there's got to be a lot of them.

As I turn the corner, the door Gaston told me about creaks open, leaking a stripe of golden light into the hall. From the other side of the door, I can hear rough breathing and the click of…claws? A floorboard creaks under me, and the small noise inside stops. My heart stops, then leaps at a rapidfire pace. The person who wanted the contract is human, right? Animals can't talk. Animals can't sign contracts.

But humans don't have claws that click against the floor.

Summoning up my courage, I knock quietly on the door, and a gruff voice commands, "Enter."

Juggling Mason in my arms, I nudge the door further open with my shoulder and slip inside the room. A warm fire burns in a large stone hearth, its chimney reaching to the ceiling at least twenty feet above. A rich red carpet covers the center of the room, edged by dark grey tile. Two large armchairs rest in front of the fire, with a small wooden table in between. The walls are covered with large portraits, some even life-sized, and several burning candelabras. And there, seated before the fireplace, waits a large, humanistic creature. Almost human, and yet…

He turns around to face me, rising to his feet. His dark cape swirls around him, casting him into shadow. Fangs protrude from his upper lip and his hands, though human, curve into dark claws. He approaches, rising at about six and a half feet – huge, to my 5'4''. I should feel afraid. I should want to run screaming. I should want to call my father and haul both my ass and my son's ass back to safety. But I don't.

A dark blue mask stretches from his hairline to the top of his mouth, the perfect shade to make his head blend into the wall behind him. His lips are pale pink, the skin around his mouth pale white, but spattered with pale speckles of stubble. He bows, revealing curly light brown hair beyond the top of the mask. "Welcome, my dear," he murmurs, his voice rumbling out of his chest. It is warm, smooth, but not gentle – almost like an espresso that didn't get enough sugar to be regular coffee.

I brush my hair out of my eyes. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr…" "Erik," he tells me. "Please, call me Erik." I raise my eyebrow. "Um…shouldn't I call you by your last name? I'm your…" I purse my lips looking for the right word. "…tenant. We're not intimate or whatever."

He frowns. "I don't have a last name. My parents didn't give me one." I nod. "Right. Erik it is then."

Mason shuffles in my arms, gurgling and blinking sleepily, and I bob him up and down gently. "Uh-oh. Somebody's waking up, and he's going to be hungry." Erik looks at me, then nods. "Of course. The kitchen is right down the hall. I'm sure Lydia has some milk in the icebox…" "No," I interrupt. "I'm his mom. _I _have to feed him."

Below the mask, Erik's cheeks flame red as recognition dawns on him. "Of course. Your father mentioned that you had a son. I had hoped he was a little…older." "Sorry to disappoint you, but Mason is only ten months old," I tell him. Mason looks up at me, now definitely awake, and glances around curiously. He squeals and grabs at my collar, yanking hard at my hair. "Any moment now," I say through gritted teeth, and Erik nods. "Right this way," he mutters as he gestures towards the hall. We exit the parlor (that's what Erik called it) and climb three flights of carpeted stairs before arriving at a set of white double doors decorated with gold patterns. "This will be your room while you're here," he says, pushing the doors open. "There's a smaller adjoining room where your son may sleep."

"Thanks very much," I say hurriedly as Mason tugs more urgently on my hair. Erik sighs and taps one of the little hands, and Mason stares at his claws in fascination. He reaches out and runs his fingers over the smooth, black surface, and I watch carefully to make sure he doesn't cut himself on the curved tips. Still, the claw has distracted Mason from his hunger, and I smile at Erik. "Again, thanks," I tell him.

He nods. "Dinner is at 7. I hope you will join me. Please let a servant know if there will be any delays." He walks away down the hall, his cape sweeping behind him, and from behind it looks like he's floating. I shake my head in wonder. I'm the tenant of a strange purple and blue-clad ghost guy. But it's better than him being an axe murderer.

Shutting the door, I glance around my new room. Our duffel bags have been dropped in front of a large white wardrobe, gilded with gold like the door and all the other furniture in here. I make a mental note to unpack later and turn in a slow circle. A huge vanity table with at least a dozen drawers and a large mirror, a plushy white bed covered in pillows with light lacy curtains on all sides, a fireplace, pale green carpeting, a wooden rocking chair, two regular light yellow chairs, and a smaller white door that probably leads to Mason's room. The ceiling, like the study downstairs, stretches many feet above our heads. A pair of large windows on either side of the fireplace leads to a marble balcony with a beautiful view of the garden. For once, no drapes. This room has been designed to be bright and airy, perhaps on purpose for us. I pull back the bed curtains and collapse, sitting frozen. Most of my courage has been used up, and I'm drained.

Mason resumes his hair-pulling, reminding me that yes, I'm still a mother, and no, a magic castle with a ghost will not change that fact. I pull down my shirt and let him suckle. Pulling off his cap, I run a finger through his wispy brown hair, a soft comfort against the cool attitude in the mansion. Erik and Gaston were friendly, but not overly so. I glance at the clock on the wall – about 4:00. Normally I'm coming home from school right now, Dad pulling me into an attack hug before handing me Mason, freshly delivered from his nanny. A warm family. Tears spring to my eyes as I remember Dad's bear hugs.

Mason lets out a tiny burp, indicating that he's full, and I hug him tight. I haven't lost my whole family.

Tugging my shirt back on, I pop Mason's cap back on his head. "Boop!" I say happily when it lands. I tap his tiny nose. "Boop!" Mason giggles, reaching for my fingers. "Boop!" I say again as I tap his hand.

A soft knock raps on the door. "Come on in," I call, continuing to boop Mason's face. A wispy young woman, maybe twenty, walks in, her thick blond hair hanging loosely about her face as it falls out of her bun. Her black dress is similar to Gaston's tux. "Good evening, Miss. I've been sent to tell you that the Master will be receiving a business call later and must move dinner up to six." I nod. "Sure. No problem." She curtsies and leaves again, shutting the door behind her.

We continue playing, but after a while Mason yawns. Despite his nap, dinner made him sleepy. For once he's glad to obey his five o'clock bedtime. "Come on, Mason. Let's get you ready for bed," I say gently, cradling his head as I walk over to the duffel. I change him into fuzzy red pajamas and walk into the side room.

A pale brown crib lies against the wall, with a small carousel dancing and bouncing above it. Blue elephants and purple horses turn in circles on the mobile as I lie him down and tuck him under the lavender sheets. I snap my fingers, run to his duffel bag and get his favorite stuffed animal, a little panda we got on our first trip to the zoo. I tuck it in next to him, and his hand absentmindedly pets it.

I smile. My little boy, all cozy and off to dream. I quietly shut the door – only half-closed, just to be safe – and return to my room. The clock tells me 5:15, and I crash face-first on the bed. His first day here is over, but a difficult part of mine is just about to begin.

Hello everyone! Please R&R on this story, it's been rattling around in my head for several weeks now, so as it progresses I would love to hear your opinions. This story is completely OC (minus the name Gaston but his character will be a bit different from the movie). Thanks for reading!


	2. Offense

Chapter 2

When I glance up from the bed, the blonde girl from earlier has returned. "Evening, miss," she says quietly, hiding her face behind her long hair. "I'm Caroline. Mister Gaston says I'm to help you dress for dinner with the master."

I prop myself up on my elbows. "I have to change for dinner…?" She nods. "Yes, miss. The master conducts a formal meal every night." I think back to Erik's cape. The clothes beneath it, though I didn't get a good look at them, were very fancy and richly styled. I gulp. "Um…I didn't pack anything formal. Besides, he seemed fine with my jeans earlier."

"That's alright, miss. The master has a very specific taste in women's clothing. He ordered some outfits for you already." She walks over to the wardrobe, and I shiver. Does Erik have some sort of kink? Maid outfits? S&M? If he does, I'm grabbing Mason and getting out of here.

The maid throws open the doors to the wardrobe to reveal rows and rows of…fancy ballroom gowns? "What the fuck is this?" I mutter, staring at the masses of lace and satin. She smiles. "The master's taste, miss," she says, shooting me a look of pity. Stepping into the wardrobe, she begins pawing through hangers and checking out shoes. "Come on up, you need to pick which one you're wearing." I shake my head. "Uh-uh. No way. I'm not wearing any of them."

"Miss, don't make me do this the hard way," Caroline says. I cross my arms firmly. "If jeans didn't bother him before, they won't bother the bastard now."

"Very well," she sighs reluctantly. Shoving her fingers between her teeth, she lets out a loud whistle so shrill I swear I can feel my eardrums bleeding. I place my hands over my ears, groaning. "What the hell was that for?" I snap. Suddenly, the sounds of several tromping feet reach my ears, and before I know it four other maids have entered my room. Caroline, her shy attitude gone now that she has backup, gestures to the wardrobe and then to me. The crowd of maids sweeps me up and into the walk-in wardrobe, slamming the doors tight behind us.

A dress comes flying at me, and I shriek and try to rip it off. Somehow they get it on my body, twisting and pulling all through my thrashing, and buckle shoes onto my feet despite my kicks. Maids hold down my limbs while Caroline puts jewelry on me, and I bite when she leans over to clip my necklace. No way. No way in hell is this happening.

Once I'm dressed, they toss me back out into the room and shove me into the chair at the vanity table, blocking my view as they bustle about grabbing bottles, applying makeup, and pinning my arms at my sides. A brown-haired girl finishes with a quick spritz of perfume, and I cough, waving away the gold cloud rushing towards my face. There are gloves on my arms. Good God, gloves?

The maids disperse, vanishing as quickly as they came, and Caroline curtsies on her way out the door. "Dinner is in ten minutes, miss," she tells me, then pulls the door shut with a soft click.

I glance at myself in the mirror. A cotton-candy pink gown, tiered down to my ankles with sleeves hanging loosely about my shoulders. The gloves are an even paler shade of pink. The shoes pinch my toes, coming to points at the ends, with hideous over-the-top straps and small heels. I try to stand and immediately fall back into the chair. How am I supposed to get to dinner in these? Diamonds adorn my neck and wrists. My face shines with excessive makeup, my cheeks glistening like a tile floor and my eyelids coated in pink powder. I look like a giant medieval cottonball princess.

Frowning, I pull the shoes off, followed swiftly by the dress and jewelry. I tear the outfit apart so the hideous thing can never be worn again, then pad over to what is hopefully a bathroom.

My hunch was right. It's got a working toilet – modern technology, thank God – and a sink, with a large stack of fluffy towels next to it, as well as a fair-sized tub. No shower, but it's fine. It takes about a dozen tissues and a small towel to get all the makeup off my face, but eventually I've scrubbed it clean. I doublecheck for any shiny spots or pink dust before heading back into the room. I glance at the clock.

Two minutes to six.

I frantically rush to my bag and pull out a clean black denim skirt and dark blue long-sleeved blouse. My sandals from earlier will have to do. If Erik wants formal, this is about as fancy as it's going to get.

A small shuffle reminds me that Mason is asleep next door, and as soon as I'm dressed, I quietly tiptoe out of the room.

I run into Gaston on the first floor. He looks me up and down, nodding approvingly. "You look nice." He takes a second glance at my outfit. "Caroline's going to kill you for changing." I shrug. "This is what happens when she tries to dress me like cotton candy."

Gaston grins. "Allow me to lead you to the dining hall," he states, bowing and offering his arm. I take it, resting my hand lightly against his elbow as we walk down the hall. He explains a bit of the castle's history as we travel – built in the 1700's, one of the largest American construction projects of the era. The first owner, Erik's ancestor, was a noble who came from northern England after discovering a secret family treasure. Desperate to hide it from his jealous relatives in Court, he fled to America to live his life in peace. The money remained in the family, and our host is now one of the richest – if most isolated – men in the Raleigh area.

Gaston points out a portrait at the bottom of the stairs. "That was the first owner of this house," he tells me. The man in the picture is almost an exact replica of Erik, but his hair is poofed in that century's fashion, and his clothing is much more flashy – bright hues of red and purple lined with gemstones. Along the mouth and hands, I spot small blurred spots, as though the artist painted over something. Fangs? Claws? Does Erik's whole family look the way he does?

We descend the other flight of stairs and arrive in front of oak double doors covered in green ivy designs. "This is the greenhouse. Most of the food we eat is grown here, in the mansion garden, or out on the farmland." "The farmland?" I ask surprisingly. "Of course. Acres and acres of it. We have cows, chickens, goats, sheep, pigs, and several trout ponds. Didn't you know?" Gaston asks. I shake my head. "All we saw when we came in was the garden. I thought that was the end of the property."

Gaston laughs, a hearty, pleasant sound, and I grin. For a college guy working his way through school, he's awfully cheerful. And friendly. He smiles at me, and I blush a little. Handsome, too.

I shake my head wildly. Oh, no. I've got Mason to take care of. I've sworn off men for a long time – having Mason taught me a lesson.

Gaston gestures to the double doors. "Walk straight through the greenhouse and the next doors lead to the kitchen. Turn right at the big oven, then keep going until you reach a small white door. That leads to the dining room." He smiles again. "Sorry to abandon you, but one of the maids was caught…doing it…in the garden with a neighborhood kid, and I need to have a little chat with her." He waves and heads off, black ponytail bouncing, and I step into the greenhouse.

The rich, earthy smells of herbs wash over me. Peppermint, basil, thyme…everything smells wonderful. Tomatoes and pea vines climb against the windows, and small bushes on the tables hold peppers when I bend down. I don't see any flowers, but I guess since the house has such a large garden, they really don't need more in here.

Suddenly, I remember the time. I'm late for dinner! I speed up, dashing through the greenhouse and kitchen. Upon reaching the white door, I stop and smooth my hair, brushing crinkles out of my blouse. Dad once told me that just because you are late, doesn't mean you should look late.

After a deep breath, I push the little door open and step into the dining room. It swings shut behind me, blocking the bright light in the kitchen. The room is huge, with towering ceilings like the others, and similarly to the study, is dim except for the fireplace and many candles. A massive wooden table awaits, stretching on and on. It could fit at least fifty people. Erik sits in a plush chair at the far end, clicking his claws together.

"You are late," he mutters, his fierce eyes glinting in the firelight. I quickly take a seat a few chairs down from him, and he eyes me suspiciously. "So far away? Are you afraid of me?" he taunts. I stand up and sit back down right next to him. "Sorry for being late. Caroline made some dress choices that didn't quite suit my taste."

Erik chuckles. "Yes, that seems like something Caroline would do." He glances over my outfit. "I appreciate your effort to stay presentable after her…ah…attack, but I would ask that you wear the outfits I had put in your wardrobe to dinner." I wrinkle my nose a bit, but he is letting Mason and I live here free of charge. He smiles gently. "Don't worry, I'll ask Caroline not to dress you anymore. Please choose your own outfits each night. You'll be much less puffy." I laugh. "Fair enough," I reply.

A pair of waiters wheel out a cart, setting steaming silver trays in front of us. Based on the medieval nature of the castle, I brace myself for fancy dishes with strange meats coated in gravy. The servers whisk away the tray covers to reveal… "…dumplings?" I ask in surprise. Erik nods. "Although I prefer not to leave home, I did travel a bit several years ago. I have a special affinity for Asian food." He lifts a pair of chopsticks and glances at me. "This is alright, is it not?" I nod, lifting my own utensils. "Of course. Chinese food is my absolute favorite!" I assure him delightedly. He smiles and waves the servers away, and we both dig in.

"So, Miss Cassandra," he begins after we finish. I wave my hands at him. "Please call me Cassie. I don't respond to Cassandra." He opens his mouth to comment, thinks, and shuts it again. "Cassie," he says with a tight smile. "A bit less formal than I'm used to, but very nice all the same."

I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "I wondered about that. Why do you choose for everything to be so formal? Wouldn't you be more comfortable without the fancy clothes?" Erik smiles into his wine glass. "I'm an old soul. I like to do things the more complicated way. It's just…how I was raised. My parents were wealthy and I grew up among finer society. After spending my childhood in that environment, the formality just stayed." I nod understandingly. "Makes sense." Servants return to clear our dishes, and Erik's unflinching gaze stays on me until they leave. He rests his elbows on the table, interlacing his long fingers, his claws gently poking into his hands.

"And what about you?" he mutters. "A single mother at seventeen. A father willing to sell his daughter and grandson for a business deal. And somehow you also ran track and graduated from high school with honors." "Who told you-" He shakes his head. "I didn't just let you in without doing research. You could have been a delinquent for all I knew. So I did a little digging." He tilts his head. "You're a bright girl, Cassie. You did well on your own." "Well, my dad helped a lot in the evenings. And we had a nanny when I was doing track." I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

Erik's gaze doesn't break. "Did the father help you?"

I clench my fists tightly. "Mason's father is not in the picture." He tilts his head. "You managed to graduate with straight A's, yet you had a child with a stupid boy who didn't hang around to raise his son."

I slam my hand on the table and stand. "Now you listen to me, you fuckball," I snap. "You may have done your goddamn research and you may have taken us on to save my dad's business, but don't you dare think for one fucking second that you know me. Mason is my son. I am his mother. And we just met you today. You have no right to judge me or to speak to me that way. You are a landlord. We are your tenants. And you do not get to ask questions about my life."

Erik's eyes widen. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any offense…" "Well too goddamn bad," I snap. "You offended me. So please do me a favor and shut your fucking mouth." With that, I storm out of the room, leaving a wide-eyed Erik gaping behind me, his fangs glinting in the dying candlelight.


	3. Stuck

Chapter 3

I race back to my room, tripping on my loose sandals. I slam the door behind me and kick the shoes off.

God. Oh God, what did I do?

Dad made a deal. A fair deal to save his business and give Mason and I a safe place to live. And I just called the man who took us in a fuckball.

My God, he'll kick us out. What if he retracts Dad's money? Dad's business will go under and we'll all be screwed. I kick myself mentally. How could I be so stupid?

I run my fingers through my hair and glance at the clock – barely even eight. Not that I could sleep, even if it was later.

A small mutter comes from Mason's room, and I slip inside to check on him. His tiny arms flail in his sleep, his mouth whining gently, like a lost puppy. He rolls over, lost in his nightmare, and I gently lift him out of the crib. Dark feathers of hair stick to his sweaty forehead, since the castle doesn't have air conditioning to protect him against the July heat.

I peel off his pajamas and pull back his blankets, but even when I lay him down his breathing stays heavy. Sweat continues rolling down his forehead, and his arms and legs feel warm. On a hot day like this, I don't blame him, but I need to cool him down before it turns into a summer fever.

Cradling Mason against my shoulder, I head back into the hallway and start walking towards the kitchen. Some ice wrapped in a dishcloth should help.

I walk down the corridor and turn left where Gaston turned left, except…there's no stairs. I glance around, turn in a circle, and stand right where I went down earlier. But there are no stairs. Maybe I was supposed to turn right.

I return to the original spot and walk the other direction, looking closely for the large staircases I saw when we arrived. Red light from the setting sun spills in the window at the end of the corridor, but even in the floodlit corridor, no stairs pop out at me.

This is ridiculous. A gigantic set of stairs going both up and down doesn't just disappear. Maybe I got distracted talking to Gaston and we made more turns than I thought.

I go back the way we came and continue down the other hallway beyond where we last stopped. The red curtains glow eerily in the evening light, the deep red carpet turning the color of blood. The hallway stretches on and on, yet we don't pass any doors. In a mansion with so many windows, you'd think there would be rooms to fit them.

How long does this hall go on? It feels like we haven't made any progress. I turn around to see how far we've come, but the way behind us looks exactly the same as the way ahead. I can't even see the corridor I turned off of anymore. I begin jogging back, but the faster I go, the farther away the end seems. I slow back down to a walk and sit against one of the windows. Shadows descend on the corridor as the sun finishes setting, and that's when I realize that none of the candelabras are lit. Mason and I are about to be stuck in a dark hallway for the night with no way of escaping.

With renewed determination, I get back on my feet and set off at a sprint. The end of the hall can't be that far. It's physically impossible for us to be unable to get back. It's impossible to have a never-ending hallway. I keep my focus on the wall at the end of the corridor, willing it to get closer, running with all my might. I ran track. I won medals. At my speed, we should be at the end of the hall…

…never. The end of the hall doesn't get closer, not even by an inch. I stop, panting, tired and sweaty, and stare with disbelief at the red wall far beyond us. Mason mumbles and wakes up, blinking heavily. His eyes latch onto my face, seemingly asking why he isn't in bed. I sigh, curling his face into my neck. Against my hot skin, I can feel that he's cooled down a bit – I guess my running put a breeze on him.

Unfortunately, he doesn't enjoy the sudden heat wave, and he begins wailing against my side. His cries reverberate through the hall, and it might be the heat meddling with my mind, but the walls seem to cringe in distaste, the wallpaper curling away from the noise.

It's too hot. It's so hot. What made me think it would be a good idea to run in a hot house on a hot day? I walk over to one of the windows, fiddling with the latch until the glass pops open.

The soft night breeze drifts in, cooler than I expected, and I notice that the crescent moon has sunk low on the horizon. Didn't the sun just set? The moon should be much higher…and the sky shouldn't be so dark. Not even a trace of purple or red lines the horizon, and the stars shine bright over the castle's immense garden.

Now that I think of it, the hallway has been dark for a while. The reds are gray now, the end of the hall cloaked in shadow and no longer visible.

God, how long have we been wandering around this fucked up place?

"Cassie?" a voice calls from below the window.

I stick my head out in the air, searching the dark garden until I spot a figure, hidden by the shadows of the plants. Still wrapped in his dark layers, Erik stands below.

Despite the darkness of the night, Erik…radiates…in a way that he didn't during the day. His cloak reflects what little moonlight there is, the formerly dark purple now a soft, regal hue. His mask, earlier a simple dark blue, has become the color of the night sky, twinkling with the reflected light of the stars. His pale skin, earlier a sickly shade, glows a deathly, beautiful white. His eyes glimmer inside the mask, their gold pupils dancing with an animation I've never seen in anyone's face. My God, I didn't know anyone could have gold eyes. His fangs rest softly against his full, dark pink mouth, much broader than before, and moonlight dances in his dark curly hair. He glows. He looks stronger, gentler, more like a protective spirit than a bored vampire.

He glances up at me, his expression slightly amused. "What on earth are you doing awake this late?" He notices the weeping bundle in my arms. "And you brought your son? It's one o'clock in the morning." I smirk. "I could ask you the same thing. Why are you wandering around the garden at one in the morning?"

He shrugs. "I prefer the night. I slept earlier today. You, however, should be in your bed right now." I sigh and hang my head. "I wish I was, but that's easier said then done."

Confusion, then sudden understanding wipe over Erik's face. "Let me guess. The hallway won't let you out?" "How did you know?" I ask wondrously. He shakes his head. "This mansion has a life of its own. It doesn't like strangers. Back up a bit."

I open my mouth to ask why, but I shut it and just take a few steps to the side. Erik knows what he's doing in his own house.

A moment later, I hear thudding footsteps outside, and suddenly Erik perches delicately on the windowsill. He turns his head to me, and I can only gape. We're on the third floor. He couldn't have just jumped forty feet from the ground and land so easily. It's not normal.

And yet, I'm getting the feeling that nothing is normal in this mansion.

Mason quiets down and stares in surprise as Erik steps down and shuts the window behind him, turning to glare at the wallpaper. "Listen here, you disgusting moldy sheet of paper. I know you enjoy causing trouble, but this girl and her son are our guests. They are welcome here and I expect you to treat them as such. Let them out." A small rustle passes by, as though a piece of paper shifted. Erik frowns. "NOW. Don't be difficult or I'll rip you off the wall sheet by sheet."

I blink, and suddenly the hallway has shrunk to a decent size. The staircase from earlier is nearby, and when I dash to peek around the corner, the door to our room is back. I sigh contentedly. "Thank you," I say to Erik. He nods. "Of course. My apologies. The castle…doesn't like strangers."

"Strangers? We've been here all day," I say. He shakes his head. "The castle is hundreds of years old. To it, a day is nothing."

I glance at him. "You keep calling it a castle. Why is that?"

Erik shakes his head. "A story for another time. It's very late and you've had a trying day." He offers a clawed hand and dips into a small bow, sweeping his cape back with the other hand. "Please allow me to escort you back to your room."

Suddenly, a tiny hand darts out and grabs his. Mason, who had been silently staring at Erik, had spotted his claws. He runs his chubby fingers over the smooth, sharp points, poking at the ends as if to make sure they're real. I bounce him on my hip, and he makes a small noise of protest as he continues grabbing at Erik's claws.

"He's had a long nap so I guess he's wide awake, even in the middle of the night," I say sadly. "Guess I won't be getting any sleep tonight."

Erik picks up on my exhausted tone. "I can call for one of the night maids to watch him. Or one of the butlers could make something warm to help him go back to sleep." I shake my head. "Thanks, but after that hallway incident, I'd rather he stay with me." Erik frowns. "You must allow me to do something to help. You need to sleep too."

Mason snatches at Erik's claws, wriggling out of my arms, and I gasp as he plummets toward the floor. Quick as a flash, Erik snatches him out of the air, cradling him in one arm. Mason stares up at him, then returns his gaze to the claws, making tiny roaring noises as if he didn't just almost break his neck.

I sigh. "He seems fascinated by you." Erik smirks at the tiny figure wriggling in his arms. "It appears so." I yawn deeply, unable to restrain myself, and Erik turns his serious gaze to me. Even behind his dark mask, I can sense that he's a little worried about me. "I'll watch him for a bit. It'll keep his attention off of you. Please, go rest," he tells me. I shake my head. "I can't ask you to stay up any later-" "Cassandra," he says in a firm tone.

He used my full name. Not even Dad does that. It's too formal for my personality. Yet when Erik says it, when it rolls off his tongue in that dark coffee voice, it sounds regal, elegant.

Erik lifts Mason to shoulder-level, where the baby promptly begins poking his mask. "Go to sleep," Erik orders me. "I'll ensure that he is returned to your room by the time you wake up tomorrow morning."

I'm reluctant to go, but Mason looks content poking Erik, and Erik doesn't seem to mind. "Alright, then I'm off to bed. See you in the morning," I tell him.

Erik bows and takes my wrist, placing a light kiss on my hand that sends my nerves tingling. "Have pleasant dreams," he mutters before whirling away down the stairs, bouncing a tiny naked Mason on his shoulder.

I stare down at my hand for a moment. Did he just do that? Do people really still do that? I feel like I'm a princess being hosted by a prince.

That must be what Erik is. Some kind of prince. Maybe he was banished from his country because his looks scared people, maybe a violent scandal. But he gives off that regal air, and it suddenly hits me that he's not just a rich young man. He's royal. And by the way he's evading my questions, I can tell he has a history.

I turn on my heel and march off to bed, determined to question Gaston about it the next day.


End file.
